


Three into One

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Series: Counting Backwards [2]
Category: Super Junior, Super Junior M
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curious about Eunhyuk’s secret girlfriend, Donghae invites himself along on date night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three into One

“I want to meet her,” Donghae says.

Hyukjae keeps his face expressionless, but his hand tightens on his phone. He snaps it shut, slides it into his pocket. It’s the third Thursday of the month, and her message was early today. He lifts his eyebrows, looks at Donghae with what he hopes is blank unconcern. “Who?”

Donghae snorts. “Dude. I want to know where you sneak off to every month.” He sprawls across the sofa, taking up half the space and nudging his elbow into Hyukjae’s side. “It’s a girl, right? Is she pretty?”

Hyukjae draws in a breath. What harm will it do? It’s not like girlfriends are forbidden, as long as they’re discreet, and she and Hyukjae have been very, very discreet. “She’s gorgeous,” he says. “She’s a knock-out. She’s...” There’s an aching, wistful quality in his voice, and hearing it startles him into silence.

Donghae must hear it, too, because he gives Hyukjae a surprised look. “She’s that hot? What’s she doing with you, huh?” He grins, cheeky and curious. “She must be special. And I guess she’s rich, yeah?”

“Rich?” Hyukjae stares at him.

“She followed you to Japan, what, two months ago? Three months ago? We were only there four days, but on that Thursday night you went sneaking out. You said you had a date.”

Donghae is still smiling, and he looks teasing rather than suspicious, but all the same, fear grasps at Hyukjae’s spine. So much for being discreet.

Neither of them had wanted to cancel their usual date just because of the group’s promotional activities in Japan. It hadn’t really been a proper date, just a rushed encounter in a hotel room, with her on her knees and her pretty painted lips stretched around Hyukjae’s cock. With hindsight, they’d been stupid to take the risk, but he’d wanted her so badly—and he found it hard to be sensible as far as she was concerned.

Hyukjae clears his throat, aware that Donghae is waiting for a reply. “She’s rich, yeah. Her family has money.” When telling a lie, one should stay close to the truth.

“How did you meet her?”

“She—” Hyukjae’s mind goes completely blank. “Sungmin introduced us.” Again, not a lie. Not exactly.

“Ah.” Donghae nods. “He has so many girls trailing after him but he never takes advantage. Man, that boy is dense sometimes.” He digs his elbow into Hyukjae’s ribs again. “At least you scored some action, though.”

“It’s not like that.” Hyukjae knows he sounds stiff and cold. “She’s different.”

Donghae stares at him. “I want to meet her,” he says again.

Hyukjae shakes his head. “No way.”

“Why, are you afraid that she’ll prefer me to you?”

The possibility has crossed Hyukjae’s mind before, even though he knows it’s an unreasonable fear. “She loves me,” he says, impulse dragging the truth from him, “and I—I really like her.”

He regrets the admission when Donghae jerks back in exaggerated surprise. “Dude. Now I _have_ to meet her. This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Hyukjae mumbles, resisting the urge to add: _And not for the reasons you think_. “That’s why I don’t want you to meet her. I don’t want to ruin things.”

Donghae looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “How could I possibly ruin things?” He manages to sound both innocent and aggrieved. “She knows who you are, right? She knows what you do, who you hang out with. If you like her that much, she’ll have to meet us sooner or later. We have to approve of any serious girlfriends. So think of this as a test. I’ll come with you tonight, just to say hi, just to see if she’s good enough for you, and then next time you can invite her back here and she won’t feel so intimidated because she’ll know two of us.”

“Three,” Hyukjae corrects.

“Yeah, of course, she already knows Sungmin.” Donghae waves a hand. “I’m only thinking of you, dude. Trying to make your love life easier.”

“Easier.” Like it could get any more complicated. Hyukjae rubs a hand through his hair, wondering how he can get himself out of this situation. He knows Donghae, knows he won’t let go of this easily. Donghae has a habit of latching onto an idea and pursuing it relentlessly. No matter how many times he crashes and burns, he has to chase after it, gives it everything he’s got.

Hyukjae knows that any denial or attempt to block on his part will only make Donghae more determined. It makes sense to agree to everything, and maybe if he makes it seem easy, Donghae will lose interest.

Maybe.

It’s the only idea he’s got right now. Hyukjae shrugs as if the whole conversation was no big deal. “Okay, you can meet her.”

Donghae grins. “I’ll dress up nice. If she’s as pretty as you say she is...”

“Don’t be a dick.” Hyukjae grabs a cushion and shoves it over Donghae’s face. Donghae twists around, laughing, hurls the cushion to the floor, and they wrestle for a moment. Hyukjae grasps his hands, putting all his strength into the grip, and Donghae tries to heave him off the couch. Donghae’s still laughing, but irritation flashes through Hyukjae, bringing with it a snap of real aggression.

He suppresses it as soon as he acknowledges it, and loosens his hold.

With a crow of triumph, Donghae shoves him off the sofa. “Loser.”

“Asshole.” Hyukjae gives him the finger.

Donghae stretches out along the couch and puts his hands behind his head. He wears a smug, proprietary look.

Hyukjae retreats into the kitchen. He has a bad feeling about this.

*

He keeps out of Donghae’s way for the rest of the day. Out of sight is out of mind or something like that, and Hyukjae pushes his dilemma aside, forgets it as he runs through a few dance routines. He rehearses for longer than necessary, until his hair is lank with sweat and his muscles burn from over-exertion. His sweatpants are damp at the waistband and his vest is drenched and sticking to his skin.

He takes a shower, washing away the hard work. For the first time in hours, he allows himself to think of her. Anxiety tightens in his belly, slides up against arousal. He can’t call her to mind without getting turned on. She’s everything he ever wanted. He knows how much she loves him; he knows the lengths to which she goes in order to make him happy. He appreciates it, he really does. He doesn’t fully understand it, but he appreciates it, and she tells him that’s enough. It’s enough that they can be together.

He loves her. Even though he told Donghae he just liked her, he really does love her. It’s just complicated. And difficult. And he’s never been one for complications or difficulties. Not like this. Hyukjae likes things simple and straightforward. She says that’s his most attractive quality. His honesty. His openness.

“I know I can trust you,” she’d told him after they’d made love for the first time. “I can read your every thought in your face. You never hide the truth.” She’d smiled then, soft and sad, and kissed him, whispered, “You have enough honesty for both of us.”

Hyukjae turns off the shower, dries himself, then spends some time selecting suitable clothes for their date. He likes to make an effort, because she always looks so pretty and he doesn’t want to let her down. He sets out the clothes on the bed, then dresses in a hoodie and baggy shorts and slopes around the dorms, killing time.

Selective eavesdropping tells him that Donghae is busy slaughtering monsters with Kyuhyun. Careful not to disturb them, Hyukjae returns to his room and changes his outfit. He styles his hair—not too much product, because she likes stroking her fingers through his hair—and he stands and checks his appearance from several angles. Finally satisfied, he shoves his wallet and keys into his pockets and opens the door.

He peeps out into the corridor, looking both ways. MTV is blaring from the living room, Siwon singing—badly—along to Rihanna. Ryeowook is half laughing, half trying to correct Siwon’s pitch, his voice rising to flute a descant through the chorus. Hyukjae slips out of his room, closes the door gently behind him. Tiptoes along the hall to the front door. Winces at the sound it makes when he opens it. He steps outside and exhales in relief.

“There you are.”

Hyukjae jumps, spins around to see Donghae leaning against the wall.

Donghae grins at him. “Anyone would think you were trying to avoid me.”

“Why would I do that?” A blush fires its way across Hyukjae’s face. Irritation is better than embarrassment, and he snaps, “I invited you, didn’t I?”

A strange look, half puzzled, half annoyed, comes into Donghae’s eyes. He blows out his breath, flicks a hand through his hair. “Just don’t try ditching me again.”

Hyukjae has learned from past mistakes. This time there’s a taxi waiting for him. They climb in, and Hyukjae gives the driver the address. As usual, it’s a nightclub. It’s rarely the kind of club they’d go to under other circumstances. Instead it’s the kind of club that caters to students and, well, normal people.

Donghae waits until the car joins the main traffic artery before he says, “You’re not taking her out for dinner?”

His tone of surprise makes Hyukjae defensive. “No.”

“Not even a drink somewhere nice?”

Hyukjae curls his fingers inwards until the manicured tips of his nails bite into his palms. “This is how it goes, all right? She—she likes clubs.”

That brings a cheerful laugh and a big grin. “Sounds like my kind of girl.”

Hyukjae’s nails dig deeper. “She’s not. She’s mine.”

Donghae glances at him, holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Dude. Calm down. I’m joking. I wouldn’t...” He pauses, laughter fading. He sits straight, hooks a finger in his collar. He’s serious when he adds, “I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”

Hyukjae is aware that he’s overreacting. “I don’t know what to think.”

Another glance, wary this time, then Donghae stares out of the window. “Never seen you like this before over a chick.”

Silence simmers, punctuated by the click of the meter. As they head downtown, the traffic builds. Hyukjae is glad of the delay even though the tension between them is so solid it’s like a wall. He doesn’t like being estranged from one of his closest friends. He feels awkward and tries to think of something to say. Surreptitiously he studies Donghae, notices how he’s dressed up. He looks handsome. Hyukjae wonders what she’ll think. Maybe she’ll prefer Donghae after all.

Donghae taps the back of his fingers against the window, keeps his gaze fixed on the queue of traffic. “You really don’t take her out for dinner?”

Hyukjae breathes past his guilt. He’d love to; he wants to show her off, but they can’t, they just _can’t_. “Room service,” he says. “Does that count?”

Donghae gives him a cheeky look and laughs. “Man, you are so romantic.”

“Yeah.” Hyukjae flushes with humiliation. He can’t believe Donghae of all people is giving him oblique dating advice.

After the next junction, the traffic clears. The taxi gathers speed, switches lanes. Hyukjae bites his nails. The closer they get to the club, the more panic thrums a tattoo inside him. He’s sweating. He scrubs his palms over his trousers. He can smell his anxiety. He’s probably got sweat-rings under his arms. Oh shit. He glances at Donghae, who’s tipped his head back and has his eyes closed. Hyukjae takes out his phone and looks at the display.

He wants to text her, warn her, but that would break their agreement. He frets. He doesn’t know what to do. They’ve never discussed what they should do if something like this happened. They haven’t discussed much of anything at all.

The realisation wounds him. Hyukjae sits silent, staring at the phone, his thumb stroking mindlessly over the keypad. He doesn’t know how she’ll react. Come to think of it, he doesn’t really know how Donghae will react, either.

The lesser evil is surely to text her or ring her. She might be angry that he contacted her. She might call off their date. He doesn’t want that. Maybe Donghae won’t stay long. No doubt he’ll get distracted by other girls in the club. Probably he won’t even notice anything unusual or familiar about Hyukjae’s girlfriend. Donghae can be oblivious sometimes.

Hyukjae returns his phone to his pocket.

There’s no queue outside the club. The bouncers are smoking, talking about some woman they both know. They don’t even look at Hyukjae and Donghae. Inside, the club is the kind of place with sticky floors pitted with the stab wounds of stiletto heels. The music is all bass and no treble, a solid _whump-whump-whump_ that sets teeth chattering. Donghae looks mildly appalled, and Hyukjae thinks he might leave in disgust, but then Donghae breaks into a grin and slaps Hyukjae on the back.

“Your girl has no taste. None at all!” he shouts over the music, and Hyukjae laughs until the meaning sinks in.

Donghae slides out onto the dance floor, does a couple of cheesy disco moves that are entirely too appropriate to the music, then he does a slow shuffle around, scanning the glitterball-lit floor. With a lurch of disquiet, Hyukjae realises there’s nothing innocent and random about Donghae’s interest. He’s looking at the girls, assessing them, wondering which one is Hyukjae’s mystery woman.

The thought makes him feel sick.

“Shall we get a drink?” Donghae pulls on his arm, and Hyukjae nods. The bar is set beneath a mezzanine balcony. It’s dark, a half wall dividing the bar area from the dance floor, and there’s a slight lessening of noise. Donghae makes pleased sounds, pointing out that it’s two for one on shots. He starts naming the beers available.

Hyukjae takes out his phone again. Last chance. Should he risk it? But there’s hardly any signal in here, and even if he did get through, she wouldn’t be able to hear him above the reverberation of the bass.

He shuts his anxiety away with his phone. Donghae is still talking about beer. Hyukjae ignores him; looks up and sees her. And there it is, the punch to his gut, the moment when the breath leaves his body.

He stares.

She’s wearing black. Velvet hot pants decorated with gold buttons. Stockings beneath, her thighs pale and creamy between the top of the stockings and the hem of the hot pants. A black lacy bra framed by a billowy black silk shirt knotted beneath the breastbone, giving the illusion of cleavage and at the same time drawing attention to the bare expanse of her flat belly. On her feet, red sequinned shoes—four-inch heels, slender straps twisted around slender ankles.

Around her throat she wears the short necklace of black onyx beads he gave her on their second date, when he knew beyond doubt that he was falling in love with her. It gives him a thrill to see her wearing his gift, but at the same time he remembers her strange little smile when he gave her the necklace.

“Onyx repels negativity,” she’d said. He’d been impressed by her knowledge. Girls always know shit like that. “It clears up confusion and helps the wearer let go of past relationships.”

He’d laughed. “I just thought it was pretty. I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

“No.” Her hand had closed around the beads. “I like it. I love it. Thank you.”

And now she’s wearing it, the polished black beads gleaming around her pretty neck, and Hyukjae wants to take them off her and ring her throat with kisses instead.

He lifts a hand to attract her attention. Her smile bursts forth, lighting her face, and she wriggles through the crowd towards him.

Towards _them_.

“That’s her?” Donghae peers through the sudden puff of dry ice and strobes. He can see what Hyukjae sees, a beautiful woman with shoulder-length wavy hair in a sexy outfit with red fuck-me shoes. Donghae whistles. “Nice legs. Always knew you were a leg man. Me, I prefer...” He stops talking. A choked sound escapes him. His eyes widen as she sways closer, as he sees her profile. “Shit, is that _Sungmin_?”

The panic that’s been bubbling inside Hyukjae all day spills over. Fear burns him; anger cold-floods his veins. He grabs Donghae’s wrist, closing his fingers so tight around the bone that Donghae’s mouth drops open and pain wrenches across his face.

“What the _fuck_ —” Donghae pulls free, rubbing at his wrist. He stares at Hyukjae. “What the hell, dude? What is this?”

Hyukjae wants to explain, but he can’t even begin to find the words. He stares back, helplessness washing up his throat like nausea.

Donghae looks furious. More than that, he looks hurt. “Are you taking the piss? For real, bro, if you didn’t want me to meet your fucking girlfriend you should have said so. You didn’t need to drag Minnie into this. Literally. Minnie in drag. Jesus. You’re sick. This isn’t funny.”

Shame piles on top of the helplessness. “It’s not— This is real. This is her. My girlfriend.” Hyukjae can’t do this. His thoughts collide and fall.

“Dude.” Donghae is staring at him, pitying him. “ _She_ is a _he_. She’s—”

“She’s my girlfriend!” Hyukjae shouts, loud enough despite the thundering pulse of the music that a few people turn to glance in their direction.

“Okay. I get it. Okay.” Donghae obviously doesn’t get it at all, and neither is it okay, but the thing about Donghae is that he’s a fast learner. Give him a routine and he’s got it memorised. Give him a bunch of Chinese phrases or an English song and he’ll have it perfect after a few repeats. It’ll be the same with this.

So Hyukjae hopes. Prays. Otherwise...

She strokes a hand down his back and he jumps, electrified by her touch. He turns, forces a smile that turns real when he lays eyes on her, and draws her into an embrace, hoping to hell that Donghae will see sense and fuck off in the meantime. Hyukjae kisses her, puts his hands in her silky hair and feels the warmth of her skin, wraps himself in the sweet floral scent of her perfume. She tastes cold, like sharp peppermint, and he wants to warm her. When he lifts his head, he gazes into her beautiful luminous eyes and his heart hitches, stutters, tumbles. He wants to hide her away forever, keep her as his perfect secret.

She smiles, looks up at him with adoration and tenderness. He bathes in the absolute certainty of her love.

And then she notices Donghae.

Shock goes through her like a current through a live wire. She quivers in Hyukjae’s arms, a single startled reaction, and then she’s utterly motionless. Her face pales, her eyes wide and sombre. It’s only because he’s holding her that she doesn’t bolt right there and then.

Donghae seems just as stunned. He recovers himself before Hyukjae can think of a suitable introduction. Bobbing his head, Donghae offers a strained smile. “Hi. You must be Hyukjae’s girlfriend.” His voice almost cracks. “He said you were gorgeous, but...” and now a strange look comes into Donghae’s eyes, and he sounds sincere when he says, “you’re more than that. You’re beautiful.”

She drops her gaze, looks embarrassed. “Thank you.”

The awkward silence is filled with loud disco music.

“Hey.” Donghae reaches out, and though it’s nothing more than a friendly gesture, she shies away. He drops his hand, increases his smile. “Can I get you a drink?”

She considers the request, darts a glance at Hyukjae, then nods. “Vodka and cranberry, please.”

Donghae laughs as if he’s relieved. “Yeah. Pink, right? Girls like pink.” He pauses, looks horrified at his own stupidity. Gestures towards the bar. “I’ll be right back.”

They watch him go. He almost runs.

Hyukjae exhales, relaxing. That could have been worse. Just as he starts to say this out loud, she shrugs his arm from her shoulders and walks away. She crosses to the far wall and leans against it. Puts her head in her hands for a moment. Hyukjae follows her, stands at a loss. He wants to hold her and make everything all right, but when he touches her hand, she slaps him away.

“How could you. How could you do this to me—to us?” Her voice slips from its usual soft, smoky tones to something raw and masculine.

Hyukjae tries to explain. “He wanted to meet you. He’s noticed. He knew about Japan.”

She goes white. “God. Oh, God.” The moment of weakness is only brief. She pulls herself together, straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “Does everyone know?”

“I don’t think so. No.” Surely not, because otherwise someone would have said something long before now. The certainty grows. Hyukjae says with firmer conviction: “No. And he won’t tell anyone, either.”

She looks at him. “Why?”

Hyukjae frowns. “He’s a good guy. You know he is.”

“Not that.” She puts a hand to her head, rubs between her fine-arched brows. Looks up at him again. “Why did you bring him here?”

“To meet you.” He’s bewildered. Isn’t it obvious? “To show him you were real.”

Her eyes close, mascara-glossed lashes sweeping like moth’s wings. She looks tiny again. “Oh, Hyukkie. Wasn’t I real enough for you before?”

He can’t quite understand why she’s so upset. “Of course you were, babe. It’s not about that. It’s just...”

She draws in a breath, looks away from him and brushes at her hair, her fingers running through the curls. “Illusions only work when people know they’re illusions.”

“That’s not true.” He doesn’t like the way she’s talking. He grabs her hands, squeezes her fingers. “And you’re not an illusion. Not to me.”

“Hyukjae...” She turns her gaze on him, passionate and wounded. “I—”

“Hi there. Drinks.” Donghae comes back, the vodka and cranberry cradled in both hands, two bottled beers tucked beneath his arm. He gives her the drink, then frees the beers and hands one to Hyukjae. He takes a long swig of his own beer, then stares at her. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“Actually,” Hyukjae begins, but she smiles and says, “No”, and that’s it.

There’s another awkward pause, then Donghae leans closer to counteract the din of the music and starts chatting to her as if this was the first time they’d met—which it is, Hyukjae reminds himself. He drinks his beer and watches them, sees how she gradually relaxes and loses her fear of meeting new people. Soon she’s laughing at something Donghae says, and Donghae is laughing, too; they’re both laughing and he doesn’t know what the joke is. Perhaps they’re laughing at him. Hyukjae drains the bottle and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

She gives him a sparkling look. “Hyukkie, your friend is so funny.”

“Yeah,” he says mechanically. “He’s a riot.”

Her vivacious expression dulls a little. She pushes her half empty glass at him to hold and murmurs an excuse, squeezes past him and heads for the bathroom.

Donghae takes a slow, thoughtful pull on his beer. “I think she likes me.”

“Shut up.”

“Dude. What’s wrong with you?” Donghae raises an eyebrow.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Hyukjae says with more heat than he intends. “This was a mistake.”

“It’s just a game, right? I can play along.”

That’s the problem, Hyukjae realises. Donghae can play this game better than him, because for Hyukjae it’s not a game—it’s real. It’s real, and while they’re inside the fantasy of their date night, Sungmin is a woman, his perfect woman. Even when the lines blur and he’s faced with the reality of a man’s cock and balls, ass rather than pussy, she’s still a woman because he loves _her_. It took him a while to settle on this knowledge, and he doesn’t think he could explain it to anyone other than her.

Maybe he doesn’t have to try, because Donghae is looking at him with curiosity and a half-frown. “It’s not a game to you, is it.”

Hyukjae stares into the vodka and cranberry. The ice cubes are melting, diluting the drink. “No. It’s not.”

Donghae is silent for a moment. “I thought it’d be weird. But she’s different. Not what I expected. I can kind of forget that she’s... that Minnie is...” He stops, bites his lip. “She’s really sexy. I like her.” He holds Hyukjae’s gaze, serious. “Yeah. Like that.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. Hyukjae had half expected something like this—he _knows_ Donghae, after all—but hearing it still hurts. God, how it hurts. He blinks, tries to regain control he never had. “Even though...”

“Yeah.” Donghae’s grin is crooked but sincere. “Guess I’m a pervert, too, huh? But she’s hot. She’s worth it.”

“Yes.” Hyukjae swallows the knowledge. The idea of competition sits uneasily, roils over with the beer in his stomach. He takes a hit of her vodka and cranberry. The misshapen ice cubes slide against his mouth. He spits them back and discards the drink on a nearby table.

She comes back, clutching her shiny patent leather purse. Her gaze goes to Donghae. Hyukjae steps forward, slips his arm around her waist, brings her to face him. Something flickers in her expression—does she like him manhandling her like this?—and then he kisses her. He drops his hand, caressing from the small of her back down over the curve of her ass. Exerting just a little pressure, he brings her closer. At the same time he deepens the kiss, making it clear that she belongs to him.

She murmurs against his mouth but doesn’t pull away.

Hyukjae sets his other hand on her waist. He’s sure Donghae is watching. After a moment he slides his hand between them. His knuckles brush the gold buttons on the hot pants. The nap of the velvet is soft. He can feel her body heat through the fabric. He strokes down, angles his palm so he can cup her sex, so he can mould the velvet against her. He strokes, but something’s missing. Something important. Sungmin’s cock has vanished.

He jerks back in horror, letting her go. Shock freezes him. “Babe, where’s— Where did it... Your...?”

She gives him a look, tugs at the hem of her hot pants. “I tucked it.”

Hyukjae doesn’t even know what that means. It conjures a painful image. “Why?”

“Because I wanted tonight to be special.”

“Special.” He feels stupid. He’s missing something here. “Babe?”

Embarrassment and disappointment slash across her face. “You forgot. Oh God, I’m such an idiot. I thought... But you don’t even know. You forgot.”

Hyukjae stares at her. “I’m sorry.” He struggles to think why he’s apologising. He doesn’t know, he genuinely doesn’t know, so he says it again: “I’m sorry.”

She puts one hand to her mouth, covers her trembling, bruised lips. Her eyes are huge, sucking in all the light in the room. “Our anniversary. Six months, Hyukkie.”

Donghae draws in his breath, turns away. His comment of “Oh shit” is perfectly audible above the music.

Hyukjae glares at him, snaps his gaze back to her. “Only six months?” That was not the right thing to say. Why can’t he think before he opens his mouth? Six months. It must have been longer than that. Six months. He thinks back, scrambling through memories, and realises she’s right. She’s always right.

Donghae pushes away from the wall and vanishes into the crowd. A hell of a time to decide to leave, but Hyukjae can’t really blame him.

She looks like she wants to leave, too. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. The sequins on her red shoes flash with each movement. Her purse swings from her shoulder. Tick tock, time to go.

“Donghae likes you,” Hyukjae says to keep her there.

She gives him a blank look. “And I like him.”

“No. He _likes_ you.”

The news startles her. He watches her absorb it, sees the surprise dissolve into a slow, secretive smile. He doesn’t like this reaction.

“Babe—”

She tosses her hair. “I’m going to dance.”

Donghae finds them on the dance floor, weaves through darkness and arcs of dazzling lights to hand them bottles of beer. She licks the chilled droplets of moisture from the neck, swipes her little pink tongue around the rim. Her eyes glitter; her mouth curves into a teasing smile. Hyukjae thinks he’s been forgiven. Donghae looks mesmerised. She laughs at them both, dances away from them with deliberate clicks of her heels, pausing between each sway to take a pull at her beer.

They follow her, awkward and ungainly, fish on a line. A rock song plays, deafening and thick with bass, all driving guitars and overly simplistic drums and incomprehensible shouted lyrics. She shoves her beer at a stranger and gives Hyukjae an imperious look. He goes to her, catches the rhythm, grinds against her. Her smile flashes. She throws herself into the music, reaches out for Donghae. He hems her in from the other side, coming closer and closer until she’s trapped between them.

Her head snaps from side to side, her hair flying. She runs her hands down her body, leans back against Hyukjae, her hips arching towards Donghae. As soon as they obey the invitation and touch her, she bounces upright and spins away, luring them after her again. The track changes and she’s laughing at them. Sweat gleams on her skin, smearing over the onyx beads, running into the suggestion of cleavage created by lace and silk. She blows them both a kiss and runs from the dance floor.

Hyukjae and Donghae exchange looks. Without saying a word to one another, they go after her.

The club has filled up, and there’s a crowd at the bar, a crowd on the dance floor. Hyukjae loses sight of her. He thinks he sees Donghae, but then a cloud of dry ice stings his eyes and a strobe glares and for a moment he’s disoriented. He retreats to the wall and takes his time to recover, feeling the beat thump through him, counterpoint to the effects of the alcohol. He scans the crowd, searching for her. He’ll find her, and they can leave. He doesn’t want Donghae around them anymore. Not with the way she was looking at him. Not with the way she was dancing with him. She was only flirting, but still, he doesn’t like it. He trusts her, but he doesn’t trust Donghae.

A glitterball gives out lazy glimmers. Hyukjae looks up at it, shifts his gaze sideways to the mezzanine, and sees her on the balcony. Pleased with his victory, he heads across the floor and locates the stairs. He pauses while a couple of drunk girls negotiate the steps, clinging to the handrail and to each other, squawking with laughter as they lurch into him on their way down. Worried that they might trip and fall, he helps them then runs up the stairs, looking around for his girlfriend.

She’s standing with Donghae, gazing out at the seething mass on the dance floor. Hyukjae curses his act of chivalry and edges closer in time to overhear Donghae say, “If I was your boyfriend I wouldn’t forget our anniversary. And I’d buy you diamonds, not stupid shiny black stones.”

She lays a hand over the jewellery. “I love my necklace.”

Donghae moves nearer. “I’d give you a nicer one.”

“Pearls, I suppose.” Her laughter is low and dirty.

“Babe, if you wanted it...”

She half turns from him, a coquettish gesture rather than a rejection.

Hyukjae knows he should go forwards now, make his presence known, but something keeps him rooted there, watching, listening, waiting, his heart sunk deep and his skin numb.

Donghae tilts his head, studies her. “Why are you doing this?”

She smiles. “Because I love him.”

“Yeah. I can see that. But still.” Donghae pauses. “Min, it’s a hell of a thing.”

She looks down. Her hair falls in her eyes, hiding her expression, but her fingers twist one against the other, lock in a tormented grip. “I love him.”

Donghae leans closer, bumps shoulders with her. He strokes the hair back from her face. “Hey,” he says, softly. “It’s okay.”

She lifts her chin, eyes shimmering. “Really?”

“You’re a hell of a woman.”

They look at one another for a long moment. The bass ripples the air between them. Donghae bends his head and kisses her.

She doesn’t move, permits it for a moment, then draws back. She gazes at him, her fingers over her lips. Her expression is calm.

“Sorry,” he says. “Shit. Sorry.” He hesitates, then turns sharply and walks away.

He goes right past Hyukjae. Donghae stops, comes back. He starts to say something, then decides against it and continues on his way.

Stunned and empty, Hyukjae finds himself by her side. They watch Donghae move into the crowd, watch him dance. Hyukjae can’t think of a single thing to say. They stand on the balcony in silence for the full length of a song, and when the music starts to fade, before the next track gains momentum, he speaks.

“You made the rules,” he says, and he didn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory but it is, it’s vicious and spiteful and angry. “You made the rules, babe.”

“You broke them,” she says simply.

He turns to her. They’re centimetres apart, yet it feels like miles. “We never had a rule about this.”

“No.” Her lips tremble. She sets her mouth into a hard line, bites down on whatever she’s feeling. When her emotion is safely locked inside, she looks at him. “Let’s make a new one after tonight.”

*

It’s inevitable that they end up leaving the club together, all three of them in a taxi, her sitting between them, Donghae to the left, Hyukjae to the right, each of them keeping a decorous distance from her.

She gives the driver the name of an expensive hotel. Hyukjae feels his face burn when Donghae gives him a questioning look. Usually they go to a motel, the nearest one they can find. Usually their dates consist of a few drinks, flirting, dancing, making out, then when they can’t bear it any longer, they fuck and fuck and fuck until all the need and tension is drained from them. She always leaves first, and when he sees Sungmin in the dorms, they don’t talk about it. They can’t talk about it.

But now Donghae knows, now he’s asked questions and blown open the fantasy and made it at once depraved and wonderful, now he’s made this real, now he’s _involved_... Now, surely, now they can talk about it. They’ll have to talk about it. And Hyukjae doesn’t know if he wants that. He doesn’t want things to change, even though he was the one to bring in the catalyst.

The taxi draws up at the hotel. She goes in ahead of them, her heels click-clacking across the marble floor. There’s a huge table in the middle of the foyer, and in the middle of the table there’s an extravagant tower of stargazer lilies. The flowers stink, a cloying scent that tickles the back of his throat. Hyukjae stands by a pillar decorated with mirrored mosaic and looks at his myriad reflections. He watches dozens of tiny images of Donghae, all of them broken and distorted; watches as Donghae goes over to the reception desk and puts his arm around her.

As if she’s with him.

Hyukjae turns in time to see her walk away, her pace brisk, her bag swinging from her shoulder and a key card in her hand. Donghae trails after her, looking slightly chastened. Hyukjae is glad. This is their anniversary, their special night. Donghae shouldn’t be sharing in this moment, but he doesn’t feel that he can dismiss him now. Donghae is as much an architect of this evening as Hyukjae and Sungmin and her. _She_ is as much a construct of Donghae’s fantasy as she is of Hyukjae’s desires and Sungmin’s imagination. To attempt to untangle Donghae from the fabric they’re weaving would be impossible, yet Hyukjae can’t see an end to it, either.

“Eight-one-six,” she says when he approaches. He nods. They wait for the lift in silence, all three of them studying one another in the steel doors. They’re quiet in the lift too, but now it’s a different kind of quiet, tension rising like floodwater. It’s almost tangible, a thick layer of lust and anticipation.

The eighth floor arrives before Hyukjae is ready for it. He and Donghae bump into each other as they exit the lift after her. She walks ahead of them, her hips swaying, and the wriggle of her ass in those velvet hot pants is a thing of beauty.

She stops outside their hotel room, swipes the card. The lock clicks open. Hyukjae leans past her and pushes at the door, holds it for her.

She takes three steps inside then pauses, shifts her weight through one foot as she bends to unfasten the strap of her right shoe. The buckle seems tight; it takes her a while to undo it. She murmurs in annoyance. Her body twists and flexes. From behind, it looks amazingly sexy. Hyukjae stares at her tight, round ass. Beside him, Donghae stifles a groan.

She half straightens, nudges aside the shoe with her toes, then bends to unbuckle the left strap.

“Let me.” Donghae pushes past Hyukjae, crouches to unfasten the buckle. He holds her ankle, strokes his thumb over the bone. Lets her lean on him as she slides her foot out. He takes the shoe from her, holds it as if it’s precious, then sets it aside, lining it up next to its mate. He stays in a crouch, gazes up at her, and he looks—he looks...

 _Hungry_.

Jealousy is an unworthy emotion. Hyukjae knows he has no reason to doubt her love for him, but all the same, he can’t help it. He’s jealous, and his anxiety makes it worse, knots his emotions into a tight ball of confusion.

Aside from a brief murmur of gratitude, she ignores Donghae. She pads into the room, adjusts the lighting at the wall panel to keep the room in semi-darkness. On the table a bottle of wine has been placed on a cloth alongside a corkscrew. Two glasses stand beside it. She crosses the room and lifts the bottle, studies the label. From where he’s standing Hyukjae can tell it’s French and probably expensive, the kind of wine Sungmin would drink.

She picks up the corkscrew.

Hyukjae kicks off his shoes. “Let me,” he says. A man should always open bottles of wine for a lady. It’s the right thing to do. But by the time he’s reached the table, she’s eased out the cork. Wordlessly she hands him the corkscrew, and he stares at it, untwists the cork from the spiralled blade. Pieces of cork crumble from his fingers. He brushes it away, turns to look at her. He wants to pour her a glass, but red wine has to breathe, and he doesn’t know how long he should give it.

Donghae removes his shoes and slouches into the room, his attention on the bed. It’s more than big enough for three. The thought makes Hyukjae’s head buzz with excitement and fear. Not that he’s scared of Donghae. Actually, having him here makes it easier as well as harder. It’s her reaction he can’t read at the moment, and at least with Donghae, everything is straightforward. With a woman, it’s all a mystery.

She drops her bag on the bed. Picks up the scatter of decorative cushions and casts them onto the nearest armchair. Then she comes back to the table and pours herself a generous slug of wine. Hyukjae watches in bemusement as she knocks it back without any sign of appreciation or enjoyment.

She exhales, draws her fingers over her lips, and approaches the bed. She crawls across it, arranges herself by the pillows, leaning on her side, one leg straight, the other bent, showing off the curve of her hip.

Hyukjae and Donghae move to stand at the bottom of the bed. The tension is palpable. She’s like a queen, lying there, and they her obedient servants. She gives them a cool smile and tips her head back, baring the elegant line of her throat, the shiny black beads glimmering. Her attention grazes Hyukjae for the space of a heartbeat, then she fixes her gaze on Donghae. “What do you want?”

His mouth drops open. It takes a moment before he says, “I want to fuck you.”

Her smile holds genuine amusement now. “Perhaps.”

He seems to take this as an invitation. Donghae springs onto the bed and crawls towards her. The quilt is slippery and soft, bunching beneath his hands and knees, making him look clumsy.

Before he can reach her, she sits up. Extending one leg, foot flat, she places it square in the centre of his chest.

Donghae stops, then bows his head and kisses her foot.

She frowns a little, but she permits it. Donghae kisses her ankle, her shin, mouths up her leg to her knee. He slides both hands over her leg, the raspy shirr of the nylon loud in the silence. She relaxes onto her elbows, her gaze still watchful, but a faint flush of colour washes across her face.

“No.” Unwilling to be abandoned, Hyukjae gets onto the bed, scrambles up to take her other foot. “This is how you touch her. She likes it like this.” He nudges Donghae in the ribs to make him watch, then demonstrates, rubbing gentle little circles around her ankles, stroking his thumb along the arch of her foot.

She chuckles. “Hyukkie, I like lots of things.” She withdraws her foot from the cradle of his hands, but keeps her other foot held against Donghae.

Donghae smirks.

Hyukjae lets his hands drop. Jealousy is like ashes and vinegar on his tongue.

She smiles. “I’ve always wanted to watch my boyfriend with another man.” Her gaze is assessing, flicking between them, her eyes alight with challenge. She looks at Donghae. “If you want to fuck me, you have to fuck him first.”

Hyukjae stares. “What?”

Donghae narrows his eyes. Shit, he’s seriously considering it. Hyukjae can’t believe it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Okay,” Donghae says at last. “Yeah. Why not.” He turns and looks at Hyukjae, gives him a slow, clothes-stripping stare. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

She makes a startled noise, her eyes widening very slightly. She turns her attention to Hyukjae. “Well?”

He doesn’t know whether she wants him to refuse or not. His thoughts circle and flap, tripping him up. Does he want to do it? He doesn’t even know that. He’s never seen the appeal in having sex with a man. It’s strange and different, and that was why they had _her_ , to make it seem normal, and he loves her, and now she wants him to do this, maybe, or maybe not, and if he refuses, Donghae will laugh at him, but she might look down on him, and...

His tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. He swallows. “Sure,” he says, and it comes out as a quavering squeak. He coughs, tries again. “But no funny stuff.”

Donghae snorts. “No funny stuff? You’re saying that _now_?” He makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses all three of them. “I think it’s a bit too late to complain about ‘funny stuff’.”

Hyukjae gives him a look. “I didn’t— I mean you and me. No funny stuff.”

Donghae crawls closer. He’s grinning, his eyes bright, the feral scent of excitement emanating from him. “Define ‘funny stuff’.”

“I don’t want your cock up my ass.” Hyukjae blushes as he blurts it out.

Donghae turns to her. “Babe?”

She smiles. Opens her bag. There’s a clatter of items moving around as she digs through it. She draws out a slim vibrator, places it against her mouth, leaves a lipstick kiss on the pale pink plastic. “You’ll fuck him with this.”

Aware of Donghae looking at him, Hyukjae tries not to react. His heart drops, panic in freefall. They’d talked about it before. She’d whispered to him how much he’d enjoy it, and he knew from the way she moaned and cried when he was buried deep inside her ass that it must be good, it must be fucking incredible, but even so— _even so_ —he’d been unsure, reticent. She’d told him she’d make it good for him, she’d do it slowly, they could just fool around, no pressure, she’d stop if he felt uncomfortable.

But now...

He looks at her. Is this punishment for bringing Donghae into their date?

She seems to know what he’s thinking. Though her smile is reassuring, her eyes are sad, and he knows he’s fucked everything up beyond belief. The expensive hotel, the fancy wine, the toy—it was supposed to be their special night, and he’s gone and ruined everything.

The least he can do to make it up to her is to go along with what she wants. “I’ll do anything for you,” he tells her, and he means it.

“Darling,” she says, and her mouth goes soft. She drops the vibrator. She seems to forget Donghae. Stretching across the bed, she snuggles into Hyukjae’s arms and kisses him. He can taste her emotion. No matter what happens, he knows she belongs to him. She kisses him with an urgency that makes his head spin, her body undulating closer as if she wants to become part of him.

Still conscious of Donghae watching, Hyukjae pulls her nearer, encourages her to crouch on top of him, her knees tight against his hips. She strokes through his hair, sighing how much she loves him. He cups her ass, caresses the back of her thighs between the stocking-tops and the hot pants. Now she’s spraddled across him, he can feel the ridge of her tucked cock. He slides a hand between her legs and explores against the velvet. He rubs his fingers along the seam of her hot pants, traces the shape of her cock. It’s like it’s been taped down to keep it out of the way. He wonders if it’s painful.

She wriggles against him, redirects his hand. He touches her waist, draws patterns through the light dewing of sweat in the small of her back. The heat of her skin lights his desire. He traces over her tattoo, runs a hand up her spine. She shifts backwards, grinding down against his erection. He gasps, lips parting on sensation, and she kisses him hungrily, kisses his mouth, his neck, tearing at his shirt, spreading it open so she can get at his chest.

Her silk blouse settles and strokes; her hair tickles across his throat and over his chest as she licks a delicate wet line over his abs, circles his navel with her tongue-tip, nuzzles at the bulge in his jeans. She scrapes her teeth over the denim, praising how big he is, how hard, how much she wants it. She unfastens his jeans, utters soft moans as she cradles his cock in both hands. Her fingers weave around the shaft, holding it so she can wrap her lips around it.

Her mouth is hot and wet, her tongue skilled as she plays him. Hyukjae sinks into bliss, darkness behind his eyelids, feeling the resonance of the greedy stifled sounds she makes as she sucks at him. Then she squeals, pulls away so suddenly that his cock jumps from her mouth and strikes his belly. He opens his eyes to see Donghae crouched behind her, licking up the back of her thighs and nuzzling into the curve of her ass through her hot pants. She makes a breathy sound, presses back against him.

Donghae tilts his head and meets Hyukjae’s gaze. “Thought I’d just jump right in. You seemed a bit distracted.”

“She’s ticklish there,” Hyukjae says. An unnecessary comment, because Donghae has found that out for himself. His next few kisses provoke a fit of giggles from her, and she’s squirming to get away, rolling off Hyukjae. Donghae crawls across her, pins her legs and unzips her hot pants. Hyukjae hates him for that. He’d thought he’d have to undo the gold buttons one by one, but Donghae knew it was a zip fastening. Donghae was obviously studying her outfit with too much interest.

She catches her breath as Donghae tugs the hot pants down from her hips, over her thighs. He kneels up, frees her legs, and she lifts them obligingly so he can pull off her shorts.

They both stare at her. She’s wearing little lacy panties and a silky suspender belt, brief scraps of nothing. She’s completely smooth and hairless beneath the lace. It’s only when she parts her thighs at Donghae’s urging that they see where her cock is, folded back and held down with neat strips of duct tape. She rolls onto her front, flaunting her perfect back, the lacy g-string a thin line between her buttocks.

“Jesus,” Donghae says, his voice raw. “God. Oh, Min, I have got to have you.”

She flicks back her hair and gives him a cool look over her silk-ruffled shoulder. “Take Hyukkie first.”

Donghae grabs at Hyukjae, awkward but determined. Hyukjae doesn’t want to be the starter bolted on the way to the main course. He shoves at Donghae’s groping hands and whines a complaint.

“Not like that.” She gives Donghae a disapproving look. “Treat him right. If he doesn’t enjoy it, I won’t let you touch me. You want to touch me, don’t you?”

Donghae tries to mock-leer at her, but there’s too much honesty in his voice. “More than anything, babe.”

“Men,” she sighs. “So predictable.” She smiles, lifts her eyebrows. “What are you waiting for? Get naked.”

Donghae strips with enthusiastic haste. His cock is already hard. Intimidated, Hyukjae tries not to look. It helps when she doesn’t spare Donghae’s prick a glance. Instead she slides over Hyukjae, kissing him, undressing him. Donghae stretches out behind her, sandwiching her between them. He shifts closer, strokes her hip, then trails his fingers up Hyukjae’s thigh.

Hyukjae stops kissing her. He looks past her at Donghae, aware of the warmth of his friend’s hand on his thigh. Donghae’s eyes are bright, his smile joyous. It’s as if he really wants this. Donghae has never been one to shy away from affection, no matter what form it comes in. Hyukjae supposes the idea of being in bed with two of his closest friends must seem pretty close to perfect. But even so...

“I’m not kissing him,” Hyukjae hears himself say.

“Not unless you want to,” she tells him, and he’s absurdly grateful.

She snakes over him, her lips murmuring soft words against his skin, the silk of her blouse a delicate whisper. She moves up the bed, and he’s left face to face with Donghae. They stare at each other for a moment, then Donghae mutters “What the fuck” and kisses him.

Hyukjae jerks back, resists the urge to punch him. It’s not like kissing her. Donghae is just as enthusiastic, but there’s aggression behind his kiss, a desire to prove himself, and Hyukjae can’t work out if Donghae is nervous, too, or if he’s trying to show that he’s a good kisser. Hyukjae feels bad for him, kisses him back, tries to demonstrate how he likes it.

Donghae makes a snuffled noise and wriggles closer. Their bodies align, press together. Hyukjae doesn’t pull away when he feels the heat of Donghae’s skin, the hard thrust of his cock, the sticky wetness leaking from it. The sensation of holding another man isn’t as bad as he expected. There’s a familiarity to it, a safety. He loops one arm around Donghae’s waist, tugs him closer. Their kisses are still a little awkward, not as natural as when he’s kissing her, but Hyukjae thinks he could learn to enjoy it.

The mattress shifts behind him. The quilt slithers. He smells her perfume, feels the brush of her hair as she leans over him. “Hyukkie,” she murmurs, and strokes fingers wet with lube across the back of his thigh.

He breaks the kiss, turns his head to see what she’s doing. He stays in Donghae’s arms, allows her to position him. She licks her lips, dips between his legs to kiss his buttocks. Her tongue tickles close to his hole and he forces himself to relax. She tests him with one wet finger, circling the ring of muscle until the ticklish pressure of it makes him open for her.

Another finger, and she’s praising him, telling him he’s a good boy, he’ll like this, oh yes he’ll like it, and Donghae is quivering next to him, his breathing harsh and his expression eager and excited.

Three fingers, and Hyukjae makes a sound. It’s a weird sensation, being stretched, and he’s not sure it’s really doing anything for him. It seems to be having more of an effect on Donghae, who can’t even see everything all that well. She’s looking flushed and delighted, her teeth digging into the plump pout of her lower lip as she finally slides the lubed vibrator inside him.

Hyukjae shifts back against the toy, clenching around it. The action seems to draw the vibrator deeper, and he grunts in startled reaction. She giggles, kisses his flank, and twists the base of the toy. It buzzes into life, and Hyukjae yelps, thrusting blindly against Donghae as a sudden wave of pleasure shudders through him.

She giggles again at his reaction. “Come here,” she orders Donghae. “Watch.”

Donghae obeys, turns himself around and leans over Hyukjae’s hip to watch what she’s doing. Hyukjae closes his eyes, curls one hand into his hair to pull at it, drops the other hand to his cock. Sensation spirals through him, a lazy curve that turns and turns, and then he realises it’s no longer her hand on the toy, now it’s Donghae controlling it, and Donghae is fucking him with it, sliding it in and out.

She crawls around him, kisses him. Hyukjae looks at her, everything blurring. She’s talking, but he doesn’t really hear. There’s movement, and the vibrator pushes into him at a different angle. Donghae is half draped over him, body stretched out in front of him, both of them head to tail like some weird kind of sixty-nine. She’s there too, her tongue flickering over Donghae’s cock, and the sight of her mouth on another man’s dick makes lust knife hard into Hyukjae’s guts.

He lurches forward, catches at her mouth, tastes Donghae’s cock. She kisses him around hot flesh. They lick and suck, the contrast between hard and soft, between the salt-musk and the sweetness of her lips. He follows the path of her saliva, licks at Donghae’s sac, nuzzles at his balls. By the time he traces his way back up the shaft, she’s gone, sliding over him to take his dick in her mouth.

Hyukjae groans around Donghae’s cock. He can’t work out who’s doing what, so it’s safer to focus on what’s right in front of him, what he knows he’s good at. This whole situation is only awkward when he thinks about it. When he lets himself feel, they’re a well-oiled machine. It’s like dancing. Action leads to reaction leads to reaction.

He thinks they could do this forever, but as his pleasure builds and plateaus and builds again, Hyukjae wants to be selfish. He gets sloppy with Donghae’s cock, no longer giving him deep strokes but focusing on the head. It’s the kind of attention that brings him off fastest, and he guesses Donghae will be the same. Sure enough, Donghae’s hips snap faster, his thrusts steepen. He rakes the vibrator harder and faster, plunges it into Hyukjae’s ass with less care.

Hyukjae doesn’t want Donghae to come in his mouth. He pulls away just as Donghae abandons the toy and grabs for his cock, finishing himself off. Donghae lets out a stream of blasphemies and comes on the quilt, splashing his seed over Hyukjae’s face. The shock of it, hot and viscous, triggers his own orgasm. He jerks into her mouth, hips stuttering, and she drinks him down, whimpering with pleasure.

Dazed, gasping, over-heated, Hyukjae lies motionless. Donghae shifts against him and chuckles, strokes an affectionate touch along Hyukjae’s flank. She kisses down his spine, turns off the vibrator, slips it out of him. He misses it when it’s gone, his hole flexing. He’s still half hard. A few minutes and maybe he can go again.

She crawls over him and licks his face clean of Donghae’s spunk. Her tongue is warm and soft, and the noises she makes are dangerously addictive.

“So fucking hot,” Donghae whispers. “Licking me from him... Hey, babe, don’t you want to drink from the source?”

She laughs at his crappy joke and he pulls her off Hyukjae, sprawling her across the bed between them. Donghae paws at her, scratching ladders in her stockings. He kisses her, telling her between each bite of her lips that he wants to taste both of them on her tongue. He humps against her, getting hard again, then rolls her onto her front. Pinning her down, he licks at her back, saliva glistening over the delicate lines of her tattoo. He pulls aside the lacy g-string, bites the smooth, firm cheek of her ass. Grabbing for the bottle of lube, he squirts it into her crack, coats his fingers in the gel and starts exploring.

“No,” Hyukjae protests. “Not like that. Don’t treat her like that.” He shoves Donghae out of the way and flips her onto her back. Kneeling between her thighs, Hyukjae leans forward and kisses her mouth, arranges her into the position they both prefer. She curves in on herself, offering her ass. The fierce heat of her body has thinned the lube and it drips down between her buttocks, smears between her thighs. He lines himself up, pushes into her with slow patience. She’s tight and hot, clenching around him. Ripples of pleasure snake up his spine as she grips him, making him harder as he slides in. She moans, desperate and breathy. “Oh, my love. Yes. Please. So good.”

She crosses her legs at the ankles, hooks him in, spurs him with her heels. Hyukjae goes deeper, feels her thrust back against him. Her breathing fractures. She turns her head, hair spread across the pillows, in her face. He sees the glitter of her eyes, the smoke-sweep of her lashes, the slick pink pout of her bruised lips. His necklace fits snug against her throat, the onyx beads dulled with sweat. The room drowns with the scent of her arousal mixed with his and Donghae’s musk, obliterating the sweet floral notes of her perfume.

Donghae crowds close, watches with a hot, avid expression, watches Hyukjae’s cock thrusting into her hole, watches the way they buck and writhe together. Donghae runs a hand down her thigh, bends to lick across her belly. She mewls, puts a hand in his hair, strokes through it. Donghae dabbles his fingers beneath her legs, slides them through the wet patch of liquid gel. He kneels beside Hyukjae, watching, waiting, then pushes two lubed fingers inside her, forcing them in alongside Hyukjae’s cock.

Her eyes open wide. Her mouth stretches into an ‘O’. Her head slams back into the pillow and her body rises, arches right off the bed. She makes a choked noise that sounds like a retrograde howl, as if she’s swallowing agony and pleasure, as if her emotions are being torn out of her with silver hooks.

Hyukjae gasps. Donghae’s fingers are hot and hard and brutal against his cock, and they’re both driving deep into her. She keens, her body closing around them, and she’s shaking, sobs tearing from her, but when he tries to pull back, she screams “ _Don’t stop_.”

Donghae is laughing, breathless and disbelieving, and Hyukjae hears the note of hysteria, starts laughing too, and then she’s shaking, laughter pouring out of her, and her entire body snaps under the hammer-smash of her orgasm, and then his own climax slams into him so hard that he doubles over with the force of it, blindsided by its power.

*

She lets Donghae fuck her afterwards.

Hyukjae watches, desire and pride and a fierce stab of pain twisting inside him. Donghae fucks her on her hands and knees, and her gaze is on Hyukjae the whole time, the look in her eyes flaying him even as breathless cries of pleasure fall from her lips.

*

By common consent, she uses the bathroom first.

Hyukjae sits with a pillow over his lap. Donghae sprawls across the foot of the bed. Neither of them says anything when the bathroom door clicks shut. They listen to the sound of the shower running. It’s worse than listening to silence.

Donghae gets up and fetches the remote control. Turns on the TV. He sits on the end of the bed and flicks through the channels, faster and faster. He stops on a brief flash of porn, a man and woman fucking in a forest. They look at it for a moment. Hyukjae almost doesn’t understand it. There’s no correlation between what’s on screen and what they’ve just done.

Donghae must feel the same, because he jabs at the remote control and the channel changes again. He settles on an old Hong Kong action film. Chow Yun Fat looking cool, shooting up a teahouse.

They both jump when she emerges from the bathroom. Her hair is wet at the ends. Her silk blouse is buttoned, the tails left loose over her hot pants. Her legs are bare, but she’s redone her makeup. She ignores them both, picks up her red sequinned shoes and sits on a chair. Opens her bag, takes out a spare pair of stockings.

On the TV, a yacht explodes. Hyukjae and Donghae watch her putting on her stockings instead. She’s so careful about it, smoothing the nylons over her shins, over her knees, over her thighs. She shifts her hip, catches at the suspenders and fastens the stockings in place, first left, then right. With just as much care, she puts on her shoes, tightening the straps through the buckles.

She stands and looks at them.

Donghae takes this as his cue. “My turn for the shower,” he says, and jumps off the bed, hurries into the bathroom and bangs the door shut.

“I’m leaving,” she says at the same time as Hyukjae begs, “Don’t go.”

They stare at one another, the bed a wasteland between them.

“Stay,” he says. “Baby, please stay. We need to talk about this.”

She grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder with unnecessary force. “No.” She won’t look at him. “ _You_ need to talk about it. With him.”

Hyukjae is stunned by her anger. He doesn’t know what to say. “I love you.”

“I know.” Tears gather in her eyes, threaten to spill down her cheeks. “I know, Hyukkie. I love you, too. But this didn’t happen, okay? None of this happened.”

“But it did,” he says, bewildered. “It did.”

She gives a sharp shake of her head.

He throws the pillow aside and gets off the bed. His body aches. He feels light-headed. “I can’t fix it if you won’t let us talk about it.”

She backs away from him, her legs suddenly unsteady in her high heels. She’s not angry, he realises. She’s afraid. Why is she afraid of him? He puts a hand out, corners her. Through the adjoining bathroom wall they can hear the patter of water and Donghae singing.

Hyukjae stares at her, memorising the soft tremble of her lips, the fine line of her jaw, the adorable tip-tilt of her nose, her soulful eyes. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He moves closer to kiss her, but she turns her head. “Let me go.”

She’s never rejected him before; never. Hyukjae draws a painful breath. “Is that it?” He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but he keeps on asking all the same. “Are we finished? Is this over?”

Tears cut glimmering tracks down her face. “I don’t know. I need some time.”

“We need to talk. Min, we really—”

“ _Not like this_.”

Her words are full of anguish. She whirls away from him, yanks at the door and escapes, her heels making dull percussive thuds on the carpet as she runs down the corridor.

He watches her go, then closes the door and goes back to sit on the bed. He stares at the TV. Chow Yun Fat is holding a baby and wielding a shotgun as he races through a hospital. Hyukjae retrieves the pillow and hugs it, holds it tight as if it could stop the disintegration of his heart.

Donghae comes out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, water droplets fresh on his shoulders and sliding down his chest. He looks around. “She left?”

Hyukjae nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“Too bad. Well, I’ll talk to her later.” Donghae bounces on the bed, and the way he’s acting, it’s like they’re in the dorms and just fooling around, and it’s such an incredible disconnect that Hyukjae stares at him in pained wonder.

“I was thinking about stuff. About her.” Donghae grins, way too pleased with himself. “I’ve got a great idea.”


End file.
